


all my thoughts of you, bullets through rotten fruit

by akhikosanada



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: ... or is it?????, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, crestless sylvain AU, i swore i wasnt gonna do it too but then amnesiac crestless sylvain sprung up on me, no beta we die like glenn AND felix apparently, that's it it's literally 500 words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:15:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23215366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akhikosanada/pseuds/akhikosanada
Summary: He’d remembered the words his whole life, somehow, though not the lips that uttered them, not the tear-singed eyes that probably looked right into his, that cursed artificial crest filling the cracks in his imperfect foundations and leaving a gaping hole where his memory should have been.Still, Sylvain imagines his forgotten childhood friend probably had not meant the words as literally as they’re turning out to be.Sylvain suddenly remembers a certain promise.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 4
Kudos: 150
Collections: Sylvix Squad Super Stories





	all my thoughts of you, bullets through rotten fruit

**Author's Note:**

> im so sorry for this

It’s always been there, in the back of his mind, pulling at threads of faded recollections, the tickle of a breath along his neck like a kiss stopped short — a childish voice saying childish words with childish tears in the throat, speaking of dying together in the way one would speak anguished love declarations and theater proposals, with the weightlessness only youthful lack of foresight can confer. He’d remembered the words his whole life, somehow, though not the lips that uttered them, not the tear-singed eyes that probably looked right into his, that cursed artificial crest filling the cracks in his imperfect foundations and leaving a gaping hole where his memory should have been.

Still, Sylvain imagines his forgotten childhood friend probably had not meant the words as literally as they’re turning out to be. 

Felix lies as peaceful and quiet as ever on the grass; early-summer wind cards invisible fingers through his hair in the exact manner Sylvain has wished for ever since they’d met again, undoes the ragged ponytail at the seams and spreads the locks in simulacrums of dark suns. Sylvain kneels, frantic, pushes his hand onto the hole in Felix’s stomach as though to keep life where it’s supposed to be, to not let a single drop of existence slip out of him, screams at him to stay awake until Mercedes makes it — will she even make it, a part of him asks, will she even get out alive —  _ don’t die, don’t you _ dare _ die, don’t you dare leave me, _ and when Felix opens his eyes and smiles, radiant as northern stars, Felix looks eight again, looks eight and tear-stained and holds onto Sylvain’s hands like he did that very day.

“Who’s a crybaby now,” Felix chokes over laughter. His hands wipe salt and sorrow away from Sylvain’s eyes and cheeks and leave crimson in their wake, thread scarlet into Sylvain’s moonglow hair as he pulls him down, gentle, so unlike his ever-sharpness. 

“You promised,” Sylvain says when he rests his forehead against Felix’s, transmutes his own warmth into the coolness of his skin, “you promised we’d die together.”

Felix still finds strength enough to glare at him like narrowed dusk, to click his tongue in a way Sylvain wants to feel even once, only once, against the parts of him that yearned and ached for a decade in shredded limbo, in that state of not-knowing what always was evident to his very soul. “So now you remember. Idiot. If this is what it took to make you remember me, I should have died earlier.”

“Shut up,” Sylvain snaps, and kisses the words out of Felix’s mouth, infuses the last breaths he coughs out right back into him, feels the remnants of his warmth through the gloves underneath his gauntlets and curses this lifetime for not letting him experience it skin to skin. Felix’s hands grab at his hair, eager and weak, and Felix kisses exactly like he’d imagined, determined and biting and a prelude to war and death. It’s the best kiss he’s ever had. It’s the last kiss he’ll ever have. 

There’s a laugh trickling out of Felix’s lips, a decrescendo swan song, raspy and melodious like a dirge along the approaching gallops and footsteps behind them. His hands fall soft against the ground, and when Sylvain reaches to hold them up his gloves are almost pristine.

“I’m glad,” Felix says. “At least your hair’s the right color, now.”

**Author's Note:**

> the footsteps are mercedes and she casts physic and felix lives and they kiss and get married and live happily ever after and when felix turns gray sylvain laughs that they match
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!!! crestless sylvain aka sylver is inspired by Waen, and the amnesiac sylvain prompt was from @pillowboat on twitter <3

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [shades of you](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23224306) by [euphemea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/euphemea/pseuds/euphemea)




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